Armistice
by chloe cauliflower
Summary: One-shot in an AU. The Doctor is a twelve year-old boy in a coma. Read it to find out what happens!


**A/N: Hey guys! My name is Chloe and this is my first fanfiction (actually this is an essay written for school but that's besides the point). Please note: I am not the best Whovian around. I have only watched 2 episodes because of school and stuff. So no flames please. I'll try to be a better writer in the future. Please, go ahead and tell me about any grammatical errors or anything. Well, enjoy the fic! ^3**

I lay on the floor, bruised and bloodied. I hear a snicker as I raise my arms up to protect my face as a foot lands a hit into my rib cage, and another, and another yet. I glanced my wheelchair, a couple feet away, before blacking out completely.

I shot up, straight as a needle before remembering it was a dream. My nightmares were always about the bullies, the people that put me in the hospital, and thus, in this world. You see, I wasn't who I made myself out to be. Everyone in this universe knows me as "the Doctor", or "Ten", for it was currently the tenth personification that I took of myself so far. I existed to defend Earth from evil. I was also a Time Lord, a being from the planet Gallifrey, the last of my kind. I traveled time in the TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension In Space), saving the world, normal Time Lord stuff. But in my home dimension, people like me didn't exist at all. In my home dimension, "Ten" was a twelve year-old boy named Spencer Bartholomew, currently checked in to the ICU wing of West Mendip Community hospital, in the small town of Glastonbury, Somerset, in the United Kingdom. I was in a coma, suffering from severe cerebral edema due to toxoplasmosis, a condition in which your brain swells, caused by a parasite I caught as a small child.

Every time I was near death, I "regenerated", and took on a new personification of myself. My dreams in this dimension were visions of my world, the real world. Images of my widowed mother, my sister Joanne, and best friend floated in view when I slept. In the real world, Rose was my best, and only, friend. She would rescue me when I found myself cornered by the constant bullies that always seemed to flank me. Rose was my constant companion, in both worlds, through good times and bad. The bullies targeted my all for the fact that I was different. The shakes would rock my body and give my a slight stutter but in reality, I was no different than everyone else. In my dream world, the bullies were Daleks, mutated Kaleds that had one mission: to exterminate the Doctor. I had only one tool, a sonic screwdriver, to fend off the Daleks and save the world from impending doom.

Now, I was contemplating a letter. I does not know who the letter came from, or whether or not the information was true, but it still troubled me. The letter was in Gallifreyan, which confused me, for I was the last Gallifreyan left alive. The letter read as follows: "You do not have much longer to live. Twelve days." The thing that was really troubling me though, was my dreams. I would see my mother, negotiating with my physician.

"Just a little longer!" she would plead. "Keep him on Life-Support just one more month or so," But the doctor would always refuse. He would always say things like, "We need this bed for other people," or "He is brain-dead. He'll never wake up." Then Joanne would start crying. Then my mom would start crying. Then I would wake up, hoping, praying, that for once, the dream wasn't real. That it wasn't happening. Sometimes, I would wish myself awake so that my family wouldn't suffer, but my efforts were futile. So I had no choice. I had to live this life to the fullest.

So I did the only thing I could do in the situation. I didn't mope around or try to stop the inevitable. I lived my life to the fullest. Long walks around downtown London with Rose or reckless acts like jet skiing and hang-gliding were the norm in the first six or seven days. I didn't want anyone to be so sad that it took away from the last days I could spend with them. Then I started growing weak. First, it started as a numb pain in my head. I knew what was happening. My doctor took me off Life-Support. I knew that my body would slowly start to shut down; it had nothing left to work for, after all. I was calcifying, slowly but surely losing all feeling, starting in my legs, then arms, and gradually spreading throughout my body. Like a caterpillar languidly chews through a leaf, the life force tying me to this world was gradually escaping my body. I knew this was the end.

All noises were dulled as Rose was taking me to the hospital. I could see her mouth opening in a scream; see the bright flashing lights of an ambulance. The sky above me was swirling in assimilation as I am being carted from the ambulance to the emergency room, then the emergency room to the operating room. I smile to myself as I slip into my permanent slumber, for I am at peace at last.


End file.
